(You probably AREN'T looking for me, and thats what makes this all the more fun!)
So, as you can see, this blog was started a bazillion years ago; yes, I AM that old. (STFU).
I cuss.
I am not religious.
I say stuff that will offend you.
I talk about sex more than I should.
But I love you.
And I will also write things that will mean something to you when you least expect it.
I may or may not write every day.
You may or may not give a shit. But someone does. And that someone is me; and that is all that matters.
Read; don't read. Share; don't share.
Thank you either way.
And, I love you.
Tuesday, May 10, 2016
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
I Always Win; No Need To Keep Score!
So, Monday I started P90X. Yeah, I jumped on the band wagon. I'm okay with that.
Tuesday I fell off.
Super motivated.
For one day.
Actually, I'm kidding; sort of. I mean, I didn't work out last night like I was supposed to, cuz I was really, um, kinda drunk. Hey, it was my Birthday! :) But I did make up for it, and do the Plyo disk this morning. Which means I get to do yet a second one tonight. Yippee. (Isn't the enthusiasm contagious???)
Actually, if the truth be told, I really do like it. Yes, it is hard. But I can see differences already and I can't even make it through a full session. The exercises seem to be varied and balanced enought to give me what I need.
That is IF I can get through them without finding that Tony guy and seeing if he can take his head out of his ass long enough for me to blow it off!!!!! I have NEVER encountered someone quite so stuck on himself!! "Wanna see perfection?" GAHHHH!
(He would definitely be a 2 bagger AND a full roll of duct tape! )
But if my body looks even halfway as good as his when I am done with this, I SUPPOSE I can let him live.....
I will be posting befor and after pictures when I am done. For all those that want a good laugh (or never before seen pictures from Free Willy) :)
Tuesday I fell off.
Super motivated.
For one day.
Actually, I'm kidding; sort of. I mean, I didn't work out last night like I was supposed to, cuz I was really, um, kinda drunk. Hey, it was my Birthday! :) But I did make up for it, and do the Plyo disk this morning. Which means I get to do yet a second one tonight. Yippee. (Isn't the enthusiasm contagious???)
Actually, if the truth be told, I really do like it. Yes, it is hard. But I can see differences already and I can't even make it through a full session. The exercises seem to be varied and balanced enought to give me what I need.
That is IF I can get through them without finding that Tony guy and seeing if he can take his head out of his ass long enough for me to blow it off!!!!! I have NEVER encountered someone quite so stuck on himself!! "Wanna see perfection?" GAHHHH!
(He would definitely be a 2 bagger AND a full roll of duct tape! )
But if my body looks even halfway as good as his when I am done with this, I SUPPOSE I can let him live.....
I will be posting befor and after pictures when I am done. For all those that want a good laugh (or never before seen pictures from Free Willy) :)
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Wingwoman, or You Really DO Need a Full Frontal Lobotomy
This post is REALLY long, but worth it.
Yeah, so, knowing you have no game is one thing. NOT knowing you have no game, and wondering why you aren't getting laid is a totally different realm.
Enter: Mr. Oblivious
Not his real name.
Obvioulsy, protecting the ignorant. I mean, inoccent.
This is a story of an affable, stable, good looking, single (read never married) man in his late forties, who has become an aquaintance of mine through business associations.
Mr. O and I occasionally go out for drinks or dinner when he is in town, and last night was such a night. There is always a re-occurring pattern of Mr. O bemoaning the fact that there seem to be no women his age, that are able and/or want to just "have a good time" but not become attached. Points for being honest and upfront. I can handle that. I am not at all tired of hearing about it, nor do I feel sorry for him; I just want to help him! He is a nice guy.
Last nights events were not at all predetermined, with the exception of meeting at Market Street for drinks. I get done working, get home, put my son to bed, shower, throw on the Missouri sweatshirt, jeans and flip-flops. While dabbing on the perfume and slashing on the lipstick I pop a quick text to Mr. O to let him know that I look more like a college co-ed, than the respectable (cough) business chick he usually sees. I was quickly reassured with a, "Thats okay, I look like a yuppie. Lavender shirt." Lavender? He used the word lavender. I am pleased. There is hope. I scuttle over to MS, and arrive to the drink that I asked him to order for me. He succeeded in not screwing it up or having to text me for reassurance. More points.
We are talking about our respective jobs, laughing about nothing in particular, chatting about an upcoming trip of his, all the stuff you do when you meet aquaintences for drinks. When, of course, Old Faithful shows up. "Why can't I find someone my age that just wants to get laid?"
{inward groan, (but not really, Mr. O is a great guy)}
Okay, we must do something about this; NOW. I scope the place out. It's dead. It is to be expected, it's Tuesday night. The only chicks in there are fat little sorostitutes that can't get anyone to even RADOMLY have sex with them, and are trying to leech attention from the few ugly drunk Fratties that have made it past the bong to the bar. Pass. Mr. O wants to have sex, not a baking lesson. (Roll it around in flour 'till you find a wet spot...no thanks!)
Drink some more, laugh at the fat chicks, observe the Fratties drinking their Trust Fund away, and hope for a Life Support System for a Vagina to walk in. About 20 minutes go by, and voila! Here she comes Miss Amer-I-Have-On-A-Trench-coat-And-Sandals-ica! Sweet! She looks like she will do. Mr. O conceedes that as long as he doesn't have to "make 5 trips to Salisbury just to get to it" he would do her tonight.
Let the WingWomaning begin!
After listening to her chat with Fat Sorostitute and Large Drunken Black Man for a few minutes, I decide I have gathered enough information to make a move.
"Hey, Artsy-Kinda Chubby-Not Pretty-Not Ugly (real name hidden for soon to be obvious purposes), where is it again that you teach?"
*cue deer in headlights look*
Looking at me she says,"Uh, XYZ University" (an out of state college). *blank stare* I see her eyes shift to my right, where Mr. O is sitting. Her face INSTANTLY brightens! "Can I come sit over there so I don't have to holler?", she hollers. She hurridly collects all her plunder and plops very excitedly down in the chair next to Mr. O. Almost instantly she notices his hands. Picks one up and starts examining it. Yep, she knows the test.**** So after the "palm reading" is over she is very very interested in talking to Mr. O. (imagine that!).
Oh yeah, she teaches GLASS BLOWING! Mwhahahahahahaahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
Mr. O and Ms. GBer are chatting quite well.{I realize I am showing TOO much interest in getting them to talk when she asks me if I am his pimp!} She has shown him the book she is reading. He has show interest. She has taken a large Sharpie and written her name AND PHONE NUMBER in the front of the book and loaned it to him. She is leaning in closer. Her legs are touching his. She keeps touching his arm, his hand, his leg, etc. He just doesnt get it. He is sitting FACING the BAR with both hands wrapped around his drink! So she can't see, I reach down, grab his belt loop and tug him around, so he is now facing her. I stick my elbow in the middle of his back and push him towards her, and finally, i have to very sneakily, reach around and grab his arm to slide it back so he is not making a difinitive 'wall' between the two of them. Sheesh! Body language lessons forthcoming!
Chat, chat, chat. All fine and good, but I don't really hear any closing remarks. Hmmmm. Problem. So, a local business owner, that is a fun aquaintance, who has been entertaining me for the past 10 minutes or so, finally is beginning to understand what I am trying to make happen for Mr. O. This casual observer, now privy to a few details, can even see that if this chick had her legs open ANY wider, one could shove a text book up there! (Read: she was ready to taken to do "the deed"!)
I ask Mr. Business Owner to help. Somehow. Some way, shape or form! With some quick thinking, and a small bladder on the part of Mr. O, the answer appears. Mr. Business Owner will follow Mr. O to the mens room and tell him that Ms. Glass-Blower couldn't be more ready! Yippee! My winging is done! I pay my tab and leave, anxiously awaiting either a post-coitus text or a walk of shame/morning after communication.
I excitedly texted him at 6:22 this morning, knowing his obsessive compulsive ass was already up, regardless of the prior evenings' activities.
"Okay, I know you are up. Sooooooo? What happened????"
"Nothing. Walked her home. She wants a real date"
You have GOT to be kidding! I my sex-dar has NEVER been that off!!!! Oh, well. When I finally had a chance to talk to him this morning, we both concluded that: #1) We learned what to do better next time (body language, anyone???), #2)If he had been more attracted to her he prolly would have made it work, and #3)Mr. O most defininely has no game.
*************************************************************************************
But according to Mr. Business Owner, who literally came RUNNING from the bathroom to tell me (in a very cute I*alian accent):"Dat gurl had betta taka you friend home...he gotta MONSTA schlong****! Eet was dees beeg: (indicates a good 9 inches)! Wowa!"
So, now we know that much, and soon, we will HOPEFULLY not know much more. At least about Mr. O's "monsta schlong"!
Yeah, so, knowing you have no game is one thing. NOT knowing you have no game, and wondering why you aren't getting laid is a totally different realm.
Enter: Mr. Oblivious
Not his real name.
Obvioulsy, protecting the ignorant. I mean, inoccent.
This is a story of an affable, stable, good looking, single (read never married) man in his late forties, who has become an aquaintance of mine through business associations.
Mr. O and I occasionally go out for drinks or dinner when he is in town, and last night was such a night. There is always a re-occurring pattern of Mr. O bemoaning the fact that there seem to be no women his age, that are able and/or want to just "have a good time" but not become attached. Points for being honest and upfront. I can handle that. I am not at all tired of hearing about it, nor do I feel sorry for him; I just want to help him! He is a nice guy.
Last nights events were not at all predetermined, with the exception of meeting at Market Street for drinks. I get done working, get home, put my son to bed, shower, throw on the Missouri sweatshirt, jeans and flip-flops. While dabbing on the perfume and slashing on the lipstick I pop a quick text to Mr. O to let him know that I look more like a college co-ed, than the respectable (cough) business chick he usually sees. I was quickly reassured with a, "Thats okay, I look like a yuppie. Lavender shirt." Lavender? He used the word lavender. I am pleased. There is hope. I scuttle over to MS, and arrive to the drink that I asked him to order for me. He succeeded in not screwing it up or having to text me for reassurance. More points.
We are talking about our respective jobs, laughing about nothing in particular, chatting about an upcoming trip of his, all the stuff you do when you meet aquaintences for drinks. When, of course, Old Faithful shows up. "Why can't I find someone my age that just wants to get laid?"
{inward groan, (but not really, Mr. O is a great guy)}
Okay, we must do something about this; NOW. I scope the place out. It's dead. It is to be expected, it's Tuesday night. The only chicks in there are fat little sorostitutes that can't get anyone to even RADOMLY have sex with them, and are trying to leech attention from the few ugly drunk Fratties that have made it past the bong to the bar. Pass. Mr. O wants to have sex, not a baking lesson. (Roll it around in flour 'till you find a wet spot...no thanks!)
Drink some more, laugh at the fat chicks, observe the Fratties drinking their Trust Fund away, and hope for a Life Support System for a Vagina to walk in. About 20 minutes go by, and voila! Here she comes Miss Amer-I-Have-On-A-Trench-coat-And-Sandals-ica! Sweet! She looks like she will do. Mr. O conceedes that as long as he doesn't have to "make 5 trips to Salisbury just to get to it" he would do her tonight.
Let the WingWomaning begin!
After listening to her chat with Fat Sorostitute and Large Drunken Black Man for a few minutes, I decide I have gathered enough information to make a move.
"Hey, Artsy-Kinda Chubby-Not Pretty-Not Ugly (real name hidden for soon to be obvious purposes), where is it again that you teach?"
*cue deer in headlights look*
Looking at me she says,"Uh, XYZ University" (an out of state college). *blank stare* I see her eyes shift to my right, where Mr. O is sitting. Her face INSTANTLY brightens! "Can I come sit over there so I don't have to holler?", she hollers. She hurridly collects all her plunder and plops very excitedly down in the chair next to Mr. O. Almost instantly she notices his hands. Picks one up and starts examining it. Yep, she knows the test.**** So after the "palm reading" is over she is very very interested in talking to Mr. O. (imagine that!).
Oh yeah, she teaches GLASS BLOWING! Mwhahahahahahaahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
Mr. O and Ms. GBer are chatting quite well.{I realize I am showing TOO much interest in getting them to talk when she asks me if I am his pimp!} She has shown him the book she is reading. He has show interest. She has taken a large Sharpie and written her name AND PHONE NUMBER in the front of the book and loaned it to him. She is leaning in closer. Her legs are touching his. She keeps touching his arm, his hand, his leg, etc. He just doesnt get it. He is sitting FACING the BAR with both hands wrapped around his drink! So she can't see, I reach down, grab his belt loop and tug him around, so he is now facing her. I stick my elbow in the middle of his back and push him towards her, and finally, i have to very sneakily, reach around and grab his arm to slide it back so he is not making a difinitive 'wall' between the two of them. Sheesh! Body language lessons forthcoming!
Chat, chat, chat. All fine and good, but I don't really hear any closing remarks. Hmmmm. Problem. So, a local business owner, that is a fun aquaintance, who has been entertaining me for the past 10 minutes or so, finally is beginning to understand what I am trying to make happen for Mr. O. This casual observer, now privy to a few details, can even see that if this chick had her legs open ANY wider, one could shove a text book up there! (Read: she was ready to taken to do "the deed"!)
I ask Mr. Business Owner to help. Somehow. Some way, shape or form! With some quick thinking, and a small bladder on the part of Mr. O, the answer appears. Mr. Business Owner will follow Mr. O to the mens room and tell him that Ms. Glass-Blower couldn't be more ready! Yippee! My winging is done! I pay my tab and leave, anxiously awaiting either a post-coitus text or a walk of shame/morning after communication.
I excitedly texted him at 6:22 this morning, knowing his obsessive compulsive ass was already up, regardless of the prior evenings' activities.
"Okay, I know you are up. Sooooooo? What happened????"
"Nothing. Walked her home. She wants a real date"
You have GOT to be kidding! I my sex-dar has NEVER been that off!!!! Oh, well. When I finally had a chance to talk to him this morning, we both concluded that: #1) We learned what to do better next time (body language, anyone???), #2)If he had been more attracted to her he prolly would have made it work, and #3)Mr. O most defininely has no game.
*************************************************************************************
But according to Mr. Business Owner, who literally came RUNNING from the bathroom to tell me (in a very cute I*alian accent):"Dat gurl had betta taka you friend home...he gotta MONSTA schlong****! Eet was dees beeg: (indicates a good 9 inches)! Wowa!"
So, now we know that much, and soon, we will HOPEFULLY not know much more. At least about Mr. O's "monsta schlong"!
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Woe Is Me. And all that other whiney shit.
I am way fucked up.
I mean, really fucked up.
Low self-esteem.
Religion.
Anti-pride training. (Not negative feelings about gays and lesbians. The biblical sort of pride; too big for your own britches sort of pride).
Apply liberal doses of mental and emotional desensitivity training and the Monster that is Iva is born.
How does one react to the discovery that: they have devalued themselves to the point that they do not have the ability to believe or comprehend that someone who could be with anyone that they chose, would in fact choose them??? {I have a hard time believeing that someone who could be with anyone of their choosing would, in fact, choose to be with me}. That is a big knock on the head. I feel stupid for allowing myself to feel that way. I am upset with myself for not requiring better.
I think society has trained us to have the opinion that women who require balanced, sensitive and ladylike treatment are self-serving selfish bitches. FAIL!!!! I know there ARE men out there (somewhere) that are sexy, smart, balanced and hot all at the same time. I know, I know, not on the Shore, but they DO exist! Please, humor me. Do not burst the bubble.
I mean, really fucked up.
Low self-esteem.
Religion.
Anti-pride training. (Not negative feelings about gays and lesbians. The biblical sort of pride; too big for your own britches sort of pride).
Apply liberal doses of mental and emotional desensitivity training and the Monster that is Iva is born.
How does one react to the discovery that: they have devalued themselves to the point that they do not have the ability to believe or comprehend that someone who could be with anyone that they chose, would in fact choose them??? {I have a hard time believeing that someone who could be with anyone of their choosing would, in fact, choose to be with me}. That is a big knock on the head. I feel stupid for allowing myself to feel that way. I am upset with myself for not requiring better.
I think society has trained us to have the opinion that women who require balanced, sensitive and ladylike treatment are self-serving selfish bitches. FAIL!!!! I know there ARE men out there (somewhere) that are sexy, smart, balanced and hot all at the same time. I know, I know, not on the Shore, but they DO exist! Please, humor me. Do not burst the bubble.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Narcissism is the new Black!
Okay, this is going to be a really long post, but it is worth it.
So, I was cruising/trolling Craigs List for any eligible bachelor that had even HALF a micodum of sense when I came across one that appeared promising!
Unfortunately, he has removed his ad, so I cannot copy it, but I will do my best to describe it:
Single, Professional DOCTOR, seeking Asian or Caucasian.
(Note: He was the ONLY one in the past 40 or so ads that had spelled Caucasian correctly)
Seeking attractive woman for intelectual conversation, blah blah blah...
I'm a physician, blah blah blah
I am secure so I dont care about anyone elses' opinion blah blah blah
Okay, a little cocky maybe, but secure, doctor, etc. So, now begins our exchange!
I say:
Hello.
I am not at all offended by your directness; it is actually refreshing. I am not Asian, but I am Caucasian, in relatively good shape (5' 5", 124lbs, size 2), and in a professional position at my place of employment. I find it amusing that you used a car analogy, as I am IN the car business.
I am not sure if your allusion to young and fertile is a allusion to your desire for children or not, but just to alleviate any confusion, I have already produced all of the children I am ever going to. He is almost 11, and wonderful. So, if you are seeking to procreate I would not be the woman for you.
However, if you are looking for a woman who is kind but determined, loving but not a pushover, secure but still wants to be coddled by someone who loves her, self-sufficient but craves security, confident but sensitive then I am the one you should talk to.
Please do not hold it against me that I live on the Easter Shore side of The Bridge! I am only here for the benefit of my son. (His father lives 20 minutes away).
I would say that while not a new vehicle, I would qualify as a Certified Pre-Owned unit!
--
Iva
(Ee-vah)
HE SAYS:
So, I was cruising/trolling Craigs List for any eligible bachelor that had even HALF a micodum of sense when I came across one that appeared promising!
Unfortunately, he has removed his ad, so I cannot copy it, but I will do my best to describe it:
Single, Professional DOCTOR, seeking Asian or Caucasian.
(Note: He was the ONLY one in the past 40 or so ads that had spelled Caucasian correctly)
Seeking attractive woman for intelectual conversation, blah blah blah...
I'm a physician, blah blah blah
I am secure so I dont care about anyone elses' opinion blah blah blah
Okay, a little cocky maybe, but secure, doctor, etc. So, now begins our exchange!
I say:
Hello.
I am not at all offended by your directness; it is actually refreshing. I am not Asian, but I am Caucasian, in relatively good shape (5' 5", 124lbs, size 2), and in a professional position at my place of employment. I find it amusing that you used a car analogy, as I am IN the car business.
I am not sure if your allusion to young and fertile is a allusion to your desire for children or not, but just to alleviate any confusion, I have already produced all of the children I am ever going to. He is almost 11, and wonderful. So, if you are seeking to procreate I would not be the woman for you.
However, if you are looking for a woman who is kind but determined, loving but not a pushover, secure but still wants to be coddled by someone who loves her, self-sufficient but craves security, confident but sensitive then I am the one you should talk to.
Please do not hold it against me that I live on the Easter Shore side of The Bridge! I am only here for the benefit of my son. (His father lives 20 minutes away).
I would say that while not a new vehicle, I would qualify as a Certified Pre-Owned unit!
--
Iva
(Ee-vah)
HE SAYS:
Dear Iva,
Thank you for your response. I am a Professor of Medicine, Pharmacology and Nursing and specialize in the area of drug development for Cancer.
I am in the Bethesda area, and enjoy weight lifting, reading, working out, learning about other cultures and so forth.
I am at work, but I enjoy what I do....
What do you do in your free time? What would you like to do in the future? What would make you happier?
Do yo have any questions?
Joseph
I say:
Hmmm,
Don't think I have ever come across a guy-bot before.
I am glad you enjoy what you do.
Iva
HE SAYS:
A guy bot? I take it you have had bad experiences/
Joseph
I say:
No bad experience. Just disheartened by your illattentiveness to MY
response . Your very terse, unemotional, disassociative set of
questions was very disconcerting. I felt very compartmentalized and
as if you didn't even incorporate my alluded queries into your
response. Sorry, I was looking for a give and take situation, not an
interrogation.
HE SAYS:
I am sorry, but, I also had a friend of mine - another physician- who is a Psychiatrist look at your emails. I concur with his observation that you most likely suffer from Narcissitic personality disorder according to the DSM-IV and are need of a psychiatric evaluation. This said, I will not respond to any emails from you nor answer any as I feel until you seek help, you will be unable to get involved with or be able to maintain a normal relationship.
Good luck,
Joseph
I say: CAN YOU FREAKING BELIVE THIS GUY???
But ow funny is that? I really, really, really wanted to say back to him, "Hmmmm. Sounds like a classic case of 'Takes one to know one' " But I didn't. I was too normal of a response.
So, anyone out there that thinks they may want to date me, make sure you review my full psychiatric evaluation!!!!!!
Saturday, January 10, 2009
FaceBookin' It!
Well, I am no longer a FaceBook virgin. Thanks to Rachel. (I seem to have a lot of things to thank Rachel for). And if she would unlock her blog I would link to her.
FaceBook is a very interesting sort of beast. It rather reminds me of being in the locker room at the gym. The very full locker room. The very full co-ed locker room.
I mean, there you are just minding your own business, soaping up, scrubbing away, and you feel a sudden Tap! Tap! "Hey, can I borrow your shampoo?" (Translate: Hey, wanna be my friend?).
You are either elated that you know this person, and you don't mind them seeing you in all of your naked glory (translate: seeing your full profile/pix/status), or you scramble guiltily for an excuse as to why they cannot borrow your shampoo (or whatever else they asked to borrow; use your imagination, or not). (Translate: press "Decline") That, thankfully is where my simile ends. It is such a personal and invasive mode of communication, but I guess only to the point you allow it to be.
I am still scared of it. (Translate: walking to the shower with a very large towel on!)
FaceBook is a very interesting sort of beast. It rather reminds me of being in the locker room at the gym. The very full locker room. The very full co-ed locker room.
I mean, there you are just minding your own business, soaping up, scrubbing away, and you feel a sudden Tap! Tap! "Hey, can I borrow your shampoo?" (Translate: Hey, wanna be my friend?).
You are either elated that you know this person, and you don't mind them seeing you in all of your naked glory (translate: seeing your full profile/pix/status), or you scramble guiltily for an excuse as to why they cannot borrow your shampoo (or whatever else they asked to borrow; use your imagination, or not). (Translate: press "Decline") That, thankfully is where my simile ends. It is such a personal and invasive mode of communication, but I guess only to the point you allow it to be.
I am still scared of it. (Translate: walking to the shower with a very large towel on!)
Friday, January 9, 2009
Double Header: Stick it to the Man, Little Boy!
Yeah, so; I have had a migrane for 3 days, but being a mother, have still had to function.
So, what to migraned moms do for their 10 year old sons?
Take them to the movies!
Nice and dark for mom.
Minimal movement for an hour and a half.
The movies that 10 year old boys like can still be cute.
And then the fun part: teach them how to obtain a double feature! (cough, RACHEL, cough!)
(He already knows how to use the self-purchase ticket machine and get the senior ticket for mom, duh!)
After watching BedTime Stories with Adam Sandler, it was still early and my head still hurt.
What to do? Dick's Sporting Goods? Wander the mall with the rest of the Rats? Go home and lie down just knowing he was in the basement making Molatov Cocktails with the stuff from the old dark room? {Yeah, the same darkroom where my ex-boyfriends daughter found the 1930's child porn!}
No! Mommy thinks of a much better idea! Lets go watch the OTHER movie Little Boy wanted to see. "For freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" (see BedTime Stories for that reference). So, after throwing away our trash like good responsible movie-goers, peeking around the corners for those scary teenage ushers, we quickly ducked into that Mouse movie! The one that teaches kids to be good, and honest, and chivalrous, and all that responsible stuff. :)
Okay, yeah, maybe it wasn't the best example in the world, but it was worth it. You should have seen Little Boy.
"Mommy! This is so evil!"
"What is evil, the MOVIE?"
"Nooooo...what we did!"
If you have ever seen a puppy that is excited to see you, wiggling and waggling its whole body, then you will know exactly what Little Boy was like for the first 20 minutes of the movie. It was fantastic.
So, what to migraned moms do for their 10 year old sons?
Take them to the movies!
Nice and dark for mom.
Minimal movement for an hour and a half.
The movies that 10 year old boys like can still be cute.
And then the fun part: teach them how to obtain a double feature! (cough, RACHEL, cough!)
(He already knows how to use the self-purchase ticket machine and get the senior ticket for mom, duh!)
After watching BedTime Stories with Adam Sandler, it was still early and my head still hurt.
What to do? Dick's Sporting Goods? Wander the mall with the rest of the Rats? Go home and lie down just knowing he was in the basement making Molatov Cocktails with the stuff from the old dark room? {Yeah, the same darkroom where my ex-boyfriends daughter found the 1930's child porn!}
No! Mommy thinks of a much better idea! Lets go watch the OTHER movie Little Boy wanted to see. "For freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" (see BedTime Stories for that reference). So, after throwing away our trash like good responsible movie-goers, peeking around the corners for those scary teenage ushers, we quickly ducked into that Mouse movie! The one that teaches kids to be good, and honest, and chivalrous, and all that responsible stuff. :)
Okay, yeah, maybe it wasn't the best example in the world, but it was worth it. You should have seen Little Boy.
"Mommy! This is so evil!"
"What is evil, the MOVIE?"
"Nooooo...what we did!"
If you have ever seen a puppy that is excited to see you, wiggling and waggling its whole body, then you will know exactly what Little Boy was like for the first 20 minutes of the movie. It was fantastic.
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